Living on the Brink
by Kishimojin
Summary: A Smut-driven ride through the lives of Mello, Matt, Near & the SPK in a world fallen to Kira. Near has lost - forced to go to Mello for help that won't come cheap. What if there's still something to fight for, and a way to win? Multiple pairings/kinks.
1. The World

**The World**

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**Pairings:** MxMxN mostly **Possible: **NxGiovanni, LxLight, HallexNear, HxMello, HxGiovanni, LightxMikami, more depending on how far I get.

**Warnings:**** If you hate yaoi or any of the pairings above, (I hope) you hate this fic especially. :)**

**Please don't read if you don't want lemons to be the focus instead of plot.**

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Matt placed the delicate china saucer between Mello's widely spread legs, grinned breezily at the captive on the floor, and then draped himself across the arm of the oversized burgundy leather lounger where his master sat.

A pale young man, formerly chief of the SPK, stifled a sigh as Mello smoothed the side strands of his hair behind his ears so that they wouldn't dip into the dish. He could have done it himself if his hands were not so unnecessarily tied behind his back.

"There you are, Kitten," Mello said pleasantly, gesturing to the dish. "Don't get any on the pants," he added, his voice turning harsh.

The kneeling boy didn't want to ask what would happen if he did, he just wanted to get his 'reward' over with.

"A dish of cream, as if I really were a cat... How stupid," he thought, as repositioned the cushion he was kneeling on so that he could pull himself upward, and bring his face to the bowl.

From Mello's angle, the timidly scornful glance shot from below looked delectable; he was going to enjoy this.

Reminding himself that agreeing to be Mello's 'pet' (for now) was the only way to keep the people he cared about safe, (_including_ the half-disfigured bedlamite) he began to lap delicately with his tongue, just like Matt had taught him. Mello watched the smooth, pink tongue harden to a little point, dip into the sweet cream and relax, curl, and dart back between the softly parted lips, bringing a droplet into his delicate mouth. Over and over, he lapped, sometimes pausing to lick away an errant drop that had splashed onto his lips.

"So cute," Mello sighed airily. Matt nodded back in silent approval.

Mello couldn't help but feel so wickedly superior, thinking about how the diminutive, fluffy-white-haired 'kitten' before him _used to be _his illustrious rival. In the pure bliss of the moment, Mello could feel himself hardening under the intricate leather lacing on his tight trousers, in a moment he knew that it would become obvious to his pet lapping at the cream.

To Near, it already was. He cursed silently as he tried to continue his routine of drinking from the saucer between Mello's legs. Matt had dressed him for Mello in nothing but a pair of revealing string-bikini panties, some sort of useless leg ornament, matching blue-grey ribbons to tie his hands, and a ribbon collar around his neck. None of these garments had the slightest utility in keeping him covered. The parts of his body that were most in need of concealment were only held in place by a lot of tucking and probably some miracles. If not for the panties' bluish lace trim, his scrotum would be completely exposed, but if he were to get even the slightest erection while wearing the unpleasant costume, the tiny triangle of fabric in front would do absolutely nothing to cover any part of him.

Mello relaxed back into his luxurious armchair and caught his faithful friend's green eyes glittering in the dim light. Still draped languidly next to him, the charming redhead sensed what he wanted most and procured a chocolate truffle from the silver tray lying at the ready. He smiled suggestively as he brought it to his partner's impatient lips.

Mello licked the sweet with the tip of his tongue, a sound of perfect contentment escaping from his throat. Matt leaned closer as Mello took the truffle into his mouth and savoured, still leaving it in Matt's hand as he sucked, then popped it entirely into his mouth. The blonde stared deeply into his lover's jade eyes, then slowly licked the last traces of the confection from his slim fingers as he brought his hand down to touch the kitten's fluffy curls once more.

To Mello, all was right with the world in this moment.

Well… _except_ for the whole _'Kira-still-winning'_ thing…

He would have to work on that… later.

* * *

**This setting is:**

Matt and Mello decide not to go through with the kidnapping that gets them both killed. That leads to Near pulling out of his Yellow box meeting with Kira.

Two years later, Near and the remaining members of the SPK are hotly pursued by Kira supporters and have to take refuge and pool resources with Mello.

Is there a chance that someone they care about is still alive? Will they be able to beat Kira? Don't expect too much plot here though, it mainly holds together sex scenes. I just want to warn you about that, but this is fanfic so… you know.

Please review if you like this. I'm starting multiple (terrible smut)fics, so a review is like a vote to continue on this path.


	2. Kid's Games

**Kid's Games**

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Perhaps if Mello were not so attached to the idea of living, things would not have went downhill so quickly and so very badly. But it cannot be said that Near was blameless in that regard either.

Really, there wasn't a single person alive that didn't share the blame for the fact that bastard Yagami had taken his throne as Kira-sama. But Mello reserved the lion's share of the blame for himself (because he was always a bit selfish in that way), and for Near (because he was always so giving in that way). Now that unfairly chosen, preppy scum-sack Light Yagami, who had been at the top of his class and grew up in a nice home with two parents, who decided that life was _just awful_ since other people were allowed to make their own decisions and live their own fucking lives, was living in a palace of gold with worshipers at his feet.

The blonde would seethe to think about it.

Obviously, Mello should be the one on a throne surrounded by worshipers! Really though, all that he had ever wanted was to live his own fucking life... And to be the best ever and win everything, but at least he had made some headway. He now at least had _some_ worshipers. Too bad that instead of a diamond-crusted Baroque palace he had a shitty second floor walk-up apartment that he couldn't leave due to the Kira supporters called 'Redeyes' that roamed the street, taking photos of 'undesirables' to be suggested for judgement and 'Deletion'. Luckily, no one knew his face, only his name... But he _looked_ pretty 'undesirable', and if "Mihael Keehl" turned up in a Redeye photo, he would be dead before he could see his name scroll on the Kira's Kingdom Chanel.

The two remaining SPK members were similarly confined. Their pasts were their weakness, and their names were now known, though they had been made to look different since their fourth member was lost. It was why Near wanted them protected. None of them knew if plastic surgery would actually protect them if their names were written.

Matt and Near, both nameless and faceless, were completely safe for the moment. Matt was the designated liaison with the real world. If Near ever needed to go out then some hair dye would be enough to throw the Redeyes off from matching him to his well-known description. Matt had plenty of colors to pick from.

For Mello, thoughts on all of that could wait.

"Hey." The blonde growled, gesturing to a spot on his leather clad inner thigh. Matt lifted the milk bowl away at his word and placed it on the table next to the tray of chocolates.

Near looked where Mello was pointing. A drop of cream rested on a small crease on the surface of Mello's pants.

"Clean it up, idiot," Matt told him.

"My hands are tied," He said flatly.

"Use your mouth," Matt grated, rolling his eyes.

He didn't want to. This was humiliating. He knew that if he became hard they would make him stand up and laugh at him, stroke his thighs and tease him until he moaned, then bite at the flimsy coverings and kiss, play, and torture him until he…

'Well, no need to worry about that,' he groaned inwardly, it was already starting.

He quickly moved his face over to the fat droplet he had been so coarse as to splash onto the surface of Mello's _very important_ pants. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the constrained length hidden underneath the clothing and that arousing smell of Mello's body. He quickly licked the offending drop away and opened his eyes to make sure Mello's clothing was once again flawless. It was.

He looked back up hopefully. Maybe they'd just let him go now? Off to build cardcastles, wear proper clothes, and be alone with his thoughts.

To Mello, the look was just heart-melting. He thought about how much fun it was going to be to see more of these flushed-face indignant looks from the reluctant slave. How enjoyable it would be to give out lots more demeaning orders to put Near in his place.

"Good boy," Mello praised with an air of contempt, petting the boy behind his flushed ears. As Near wondered if they were inexplicably changing the type of animal they were pretending he was to dog, Mello grabbed his attention with another command,

"Untie," Mello said, airily, gesturing to the laces on his pants. Like an entitled prince, Near noted, visibly chagrined.

"No…" he said weakly, looking away as he felt a twinge of blood rushing to his lower areas, bringing sensitivity and discernible hue. The thin translucent white hairs on his body stood on end, his cock began to swell unbidden.

Mello's eyes widened dangerously as Near looked away.

He wouldn't stand for such outright refusal, and Near should know that by now.

It was four days ago that he showed up on Mello's doorstep with two of his remaining associates asking for refuge. Four days to learn the lessons that he had been taught. A pet was not allowed to say 'no' to his master, regardless of how cute and desirable powerless adversity was.

He guided his tensed hands to the sides of Near's head, grabbed his hair roughly, and guided him closer to the target. The command was repeated. As he saw the boy close his eyes tightly and try to turn his face away, Mello discerned that Near was uselessly attempting to stifle arousal.

A quick glance to Matt notified him as well.

"Near," Matt said, as Mello watched him slide from the chair to the floor. "You were being so good tonight, you even got a treat," He soothed.

Mello looked down at them with a smirk. It was nice to watch how sweetly his two pets got along. Matt loved coaxing Near into compliance for him.

"Do you want Mello whip you in front of everyone again?"

Obviously, Near didn't. He shut his eyes tightly, and looked away from both of them.

"Do what he says," Matt urged, lightly stroking the line of barely visible white hairs under his bellybutton. "He's probably going to make you take off all of our clothes for us now. So you should get started."

Matt's touches forced Near's body to betray itself. His mouth watered, and pale skin of his body flushed as the tip of his hardening shaft resting against his hip escaped the lace covering. He began to want nothing more than to bury his stinging cheeks in Mello's leather.

"Look at this, Mels. He's hard already. He loves this," Matt smiled up at the blonde.  
"Then he should hurry the fuck up and untie me," Mello said pointing to his still-laced fly.

Glad to be let off with just that, Near took the edge of the bow in between his teeth and began to pull.

"Stop and look at me," Mello ordered, relishing another plaintive look from below, as Near held the string between his reddened lips. "Go slower."

The pet complied, and slowly drew open the tie. He took the top laces of the criss-crossed lattice in his mouth next. It didn't escape Mello's notice that, wanting to feel more, he pushed his nose into the fabric beneath, brushed a cheek against the exposed tan abs as he pulled the leather open, and drew in a long surreptitious breath of Mello's warm, inebriatingly sensual scent as he pulled on the laces.

When the laces were loose he grasped the top corner where the leather met Mello's bare, sepia skin and pulled it deftly to the side, then repeated the practiced motion with the other side.

Having completed the command, he paused and closed his eyes, awaiting the next instruction, knowing what it would be.

Mello freed his rigid cock from his underwear. Near could feel it's heat on his face.

"Suck," Came the anticipated single-word command.

So aroused that resistance at this point would only be feigned, Near gave Mello everything that he wished was being done to him.

He opened his eyes and regarded the appealing tawny shaft. In his state of arousal everything about the organ was enticing. The shape; the length; the network of veins under the skin; the bronzy pink head; the dampness of the tip; the sway as he moved.

Matt and Mello noticed how he shamelessly took in the sight, nuzzled the velvety skin of the shaft, and purposefully let the tips of his curls dust the blonde's exposed midriff as he rose to suck.

"You really like that, don't you, Kitten?" Mello teased, sliding down in the chair. He patted the arm next to him, beckoning Matt back to his seat.

Matt idled his fingers along the edge of Mello's vest, leaning into his lover. They watched the young SPK chief's petal lips wrap Mello in wet tension, sucking cautiously at the head, preparing for the routine of attempting to take it in his throat. If he could get just another inch in this time then Matt would make sure he'd be rewarded.

A good trainer is consistent.

From the arm of the large chair he watched the expressions on the former Mafia leader's ironically angelic profile become more beautiful and intense as he closed his eyes and drew in breath after sensuous breath. Seeing Mello from this angle while he was experiencing such extreme pleasure was a bit like an out of body experience for Matt.

Mello could barely keep his eyes open, caught in intense bliss as his former rival tenderly sucked. He felt the tip of his cock hit the back of the warm throat, and the eager pet admirably attempted to swallow more each time he bobbed his snowy head. His tongue zealously kneaded up and down the rod of sensitive nerves. Mello heard how he began to let go of his delighted whimpers and attempted to stifle the coarse gagging sounds instead.

The steady rhythm quickened in pace, as Mello threw back his head, lost in the beautiful sight of the rival's complete submission. His silky blonde hair was tossed gently over his shoulders, his breath was staggered.

He suppressed the urge to buck and squirm for his foe, despite the sweet administrations. His climax was building as Near worked his shaft with just the right speed, and supple pressure.

The kisses that Matt placed on his neck at just the right moment sent him over the edge.

He held Near's soft hair firmly and came violently in several spurts, releasing hot bursts of cum into his throat.

Everything was pure white bliss for just a flash.

Mello's hands relaxed allowing Near to move his head, and he let Mello slip out slowly, licking affectionately all the way.

All of the sticky fluid had been licked away, Mello was tucked back into his pants and re-laced.

"Matty," Mello said softly, holding his friend in the afterglow.

As they fed each other chocolates Near rested his head on a leather clad thigh, used to being left ignored and aroused. Though perhaps not completely ignored, as sometimes a wayward hand seemed to stroke at his hair. His body's state of arousal was past the point of being fun and warm, it was hot and menacing. His blush was deep all over his body, and felt so hot his skin practically itched. He didn't care how exposed he was, if only they would only just touch him. He hoped they didn't notice as he shifted uncomfortably on his cushion.

Matt had noticed immediately and whispered, "Look how hard he is."

Matt's whisper made his cock twitch. Near could feel another warm droplet collecting on the tip slide off the head and down his milky length.

Mello smiled, gesturing a palm to the ceiling to command his pet to stand.

Near complied, hoping they would at least untie the ribbons on his arms.

It was absolutely the worst time for the kitchen door to open. However, serendipitously, the two remanding SPK members emerged with a single laptop and some paper.

They usually tried to remain sequestered while these proceedings took place. They knew what was going on when Mello had him. Near's shoulders tensed, and he wished that they would leave. Unable to touch his hair, he took furtively chewing his lip up as a nervous occupation.

"Halle. Other Guy," Mello greeted, before they could turn and leave. "You're just in fucking time to watch us laugh at Near's miniature dick. You must have planned it, or something."

"We actually thought you were… finished," Other Guy said, averting his eyes quickly.

Halle kept a most professional demeanour, but her blush made Mello wonder why she even bothered to pretend for three geniuses. Maybe it was for Other Guy. Maybe she had the hots for everyone here, he snickered.

"We couldn't wait any longer. We needed your opinions on this," She straightforwardly insisted.

"I can wait, though," Mello intoned, resting his chin lazily on his manicured hand. "Near just finished blowing me like a cumthirsty little slut, isn't that right, Kitten?"  
"Yes, Sir," The least-dressed man nodded. His collected manner was well-practiced since childhood, a fact that he cherished as he kept from gagging on the words he was supposed to repeat, "Like a cumthirsty little slut."  
"Show us how much you like it," He made a motion with his finger for him to turn."  
"This is how much I like it," He repeated with practiced calm, impassive tone, turning from the chair to show the four sets of eyes his dripping arousal protruding stiffly upward.

"Pretty pathetic," Mello alleged. "Come here, sit on my lap."

He moved into Mello's lap as commanded and laid his head on Matt's leg. The torturous panties were removed at last, and Mello stroked the unobstructed creamy shaft slowly and lightly with his fingertips, teasing down the line of wetness along the underside. From the angle his body assumed, Near was almost being poked in the stomach by his own stiff cock.

Near shut his eyes as tranquilly as possible, while wanting to squeeze them tight, he didn't want to see his former subordinates look, and he didn't want to see them look away. Halle would look away politely, a crass reference to his former dignity. Giovanni's eyes would be coldly diverted from the start.

"Mello," Stephen's light tenor called, "We need his help on this situation _now_."  
"What's that dickhead? You've got a Kira situation and you need _his _help?" gesturing sardonically to the naked albino in his lap.

Even with Near in this position, Mello's jealousy could still easily be brought to the surface.

His evening was ruined. God, how he hated that asshole Giovanni. At least Halle would say we need 'your' help instead of 'his' help.

At Mello's words the former FBI operative's professional courtesy was dropped for the first time in his four day stay, "Look, you…" He said through gritted teeth, "We don't care which fucked up, faggotty genius-brat looks this over for us, so if you want to step in, that's fine. But this could time-sensitive."

"Fine then, take your favourite-fucked-up-fagbrat. I wasn't using him tonight anyway," Mello scoffed away the insult, and pushed Near up to make him walk.

"Would one of you untie me, please?" He asked either of the two agents, as if he was asking for help with a shoelace.

Halle, did. It was always her. He took her mothering since the beginning of this as contempt, and began to dislike working with her.

Not as much as he disliked working with Stephen, who's respect had been hard-won. Although he hadn't said anything openly scornful until this point, it had been clear that he had the thoughts betrayed by his outburst.

Giovanni didn't even look at him in the eye anymore, which offended more than it should have. He wondered why the man even bothered to leave the kitchen with Halle, when it upset his sensibilities so much, if not for the chance to see him degraded.

With the need to allocate brainpower to caring about social motivations and politeness, frustration built from inability to busy his hands, and anxiety about Mello's idiotic system of rules and punishments, he was working at about 60%. He wouldn't be the 'favourite fagbrat' for long if his work continued to suffer. If Mello and Matt stepped into his place, then what would any of them need him for? Working on the Kira case like this was so hard he wondered why he bothered.

Then he remembered that he had bothered because he would always do anything for this case, until he died. L had died for this case.

He bothered, at least initially, for all of them.

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This is a longer-than-hoped-for chapter, it really should have been two. I wanted to do shorter chapters this time, but hey.

Review, if you want this continued more than 'Just call me the Butler'. (I guess review that other one if you like it more. Edit: This fic is winning. I guess Near loses. )

I have not started the new chapter of either on yet.


	3. The Grown ups

Terrible chapter coming up. Angstporn and angstviolence. If you don't want that skip down to the end notes for the 'plot' points.

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Light looked like a god. Beautiful face, fine silky hair, and perfect body. The way gods should look.

But he knew real gods didn't look like that. Gods were rotting masses of flesh. Protruding bones. Deteriorated internal organs. Gods looked like Light looked inside, after the thing called Kira was done ripping him apart.

It was strange, how he sometimes thought of himself and Kira as separate entities. As if the detached nature of the Death Note that made the killings so easy made his 'real self' separate from the killer. But it wasn't the case. It was too easy to think that because it would mean that he didn't have to feel the blood on his hands.

No, the things that you do make you who you are, and the ends justify the means. You feel the blood on your hands, and the ends justify the means.

Light might not be a god, but he was forgetting what it was like to be human. Remembering that was his why he kept his 'Chosen'. So that he could feel the blood on his hands and know that it was Light Yagami who was building the new world, not some 'Kira' spirit that dwelled.

The dark haired man on the floor, chained at the neck, beaten and bruised, looked up at his god sitting on that throne with upmost admiration, thinking of how lucky he was to be chosen, called upon to serve his god, to be locked away from the injustice of the world outside, in the warm exotic comfort of Kami's private sanctuary.

So beautiful, was this god of his. So perfect, the way that the golden glow reflected from the warm hues of the throne room played regally on his fair skin, chestnut hair, and brown eyes.

By comparison, he judged himself to be worthless, ugly, impure, disgusting. His long black hair, so common compared to silky chestnut strands. His eyes, he knew to be unsettling, people didn't like the look of them. Something was off about those eyes. Could it be that as he saw things about people that no one else could see, they could look into his eyes and realize that something was wrong? He didn't know. At least everyone in this chamber was used to his eyes, similar, or could at least understand.

How out of place he must look in this regal throneroom, while Kami appeared to have been born to inhabit this space.

Just then he blanched. How could he allow his mind to compare himself to God? He scolded himself. He couldn't continue, even if it had only been to admire. He must simply accept his worthlessness and move on. Yes, he believed that he was completely unworthy to kneel so close to the divine Kira-sama. He could only hope to be useful to his god, never loved. He gave all he had, but didn't dare hope for what he told himself he wanted most. He hoped for nothing in return for his devotion, he only hoped for that which God told him to. It was how he had learned to think.

The gorgeous god's auburn orbs glanced around the room and down at the two servants chained to the sides of his throne, and caught the trespassing dark, unsettling eye staring up at him in devotion.

Their eyes met and a shock of electricity shot through his spine. A cold stare held by warm eyes that he should not have seen. For the transgression of looking his god in the eye without permission the pale worshiper was starkly backhanded by his majestic deity. The impact threw him back to the limits of his bonds, further choking him.

A grin of playful schadenfreude from the lovely blonde girl chained on the right of the throne was cast his way. But the slap, a touch from Light… no, Kami, was a gift.

He shivered and whispered, "Thank you, Kami. I deserved that."

The air in the room grew tense, cold and intrusive on his naked flesh.

"Yes, you deserve to be punished, don't you?" God's warm honeyed voice echoed.  
"I do, Kira-sama," the acolyte rasped, babying his reddened cheek, "Please, punish me."

A scathing glance was his answer, as the chain holding him in a seated position was unhooked. He stood, bowing his head reverently, as his god pulled upward on the collar. Long scars, both fresh and timeworn, from blades and whips were revealed along his lean, pale abdomen. There was little space on his body left pristine.

God's Right Hand, the beautiful blonde girl, held up his whip like an offering. He took it and walked slowly around the living corpse, inspecting all of the scars and wounds, looking for a fresh place to mark and finding few. The husk was almost worn out.

So human.

"Yes, you know why you're being punished," the god scorned, lightly touching the unspoiled patch of thigh with his weapon.

The human did. He always knew.

"I was disobedient."

He felt he harsh stinging crack on his skin. It was the right answer, but it was the also wrong answer.

"Because I am unworthy!" He answered more zealously.  
"Yes. You are."

The next crack hit fast, harder, and in exactly the same place, stinging deeper. He could feel the whistle of it cutting through the air in his teeth.

Light felt adrenalin rush through his body. He believed that he could feel the blood in his veins move faster, he felt his skin tingle, and suddenly he was human. He was the bastard that everyone needed him to be. It felt good.

He watched the skin turn angry red under the ministrations of his fury. A few stinging hits was all that was needed. There was no need to waste more of the precious unmarked flesh, he had the presence of mind to retell himself. It was a dwindling resource, and whipping the bruises would be just as satisfying.

A scream was choked back as Kami changed his strike from quick jabs to bruising, blunt, slow thumps, and continued to hit up and down the fleshy parts of bare back.

When the chosen one sorted out words from screams in his throat he said, "Because I looked at my god without permission."

The strikes only came down harder. Searing. Wounding. He choked back pained cries.

When he couldn't take it anymore it was time for the right answer.

"Because I lost." He said, and the room was strangely silent as the slicing sound of the whip through the air was halted.

The god let the weapon fall from his hand, click and clatter down to the marble floor, and laughed his horrid laugh. Low at first, bubbling up from the throat, breaking his smile and escaping the mouth with blunt force. It became steadily louder and more manic, higher in pitch; It went on too long, as usual, until it sounded like bells.

"That's right, Lawliet." The he answered, slurring the name as if it were obscene.

He couldn't help but feel so wickedly superior, basking in the glory of his throneroom, the inner sanctum of his kingdom, looking down at the broken man standing before him who used to be his worthy opponent. The world was his.

It wasn't over yet; the woman on the floor held up a knife, without lifting her gaze. But the Left Hand saw her silent jeers. He always did. Her skin is flawless and beautiful, never cut or bruised. She doesn't even have to look at him to mock. Everything that Kira surrounded himself with was duality. Shingami, white and black; Chosen, male and female, ugly and beautiful; the symbols in the room, sacred and profane.

"Tell me what you're thinking now, L," He sneered, "You always loved your _theories_."

It's not an easy question. It's a mile marker for how broken he is. Everything he thinks until this point is a lie. Part of the show.

Six years ago L heard bells and showed Light that he knew that he lost. He showed him that if he was really a god, than so was L, because they are the same.

And then he disappeared.

Now Light was killing him, but slowly. Slowly, because he does not know what he will do when the mind or the body is gone. Lawliet is the only one who Light has ever needed.

He is not unworthy, or low, or any of that bullshit. Being useful to Light is a way to survive, because you can't win if you are dead.

If you can change the part of your brain, 'conscience' or 'heart', then you change yourself. You can build a fully coherent shadow-self out of lies and think with another mind entirely, serve it up to be twisted toyed with, and preserve what is truly 'you'. It is surprisingly easy, especially for a genius. So surprisingly easy to come out of. L didn't like how easy it is to change and rewire the mind that made him so special, but it's the kind of challenge that he loved, and all that he had to do for amusement.

Light believed that what he was doing was _right_ because he made it right. He believed that he was a god.

But Light is no god of death. He has ethics, a conscience; He is better than gods of death because he can do it anyway. He would endure the stains and 'be the only bastard left', who else could? At first 'someone' had to do it, but he knew that it had to be him.

When he looks at the stains dyed into his hands and his conscience, he wills damned spots to stay because they are part of who he has come to be; part of his perfection. When he sees blood on his hands and feels nothing he thinks that he may finally be a god.

But not a God of death, something better; God of Humans.

And so that was L Lawliet's new game, he still won if Light was further gone than him.

With a voice as cryptic and smooth as it has ever sounded, much different than the voice he used before, he answers the question, "I think that getting what you want sometimes doesn't feel right."

The god of humans was a wrathful god, he thought, as he felt the knife run down his chest, past his stomach and to his hip, trying not to move. The sharp knife left only a scratch at first, and blood pooled to the surface of the skin a moment later. Bubbling up angrily like Kira's laughter.

And like Kira's laughter it goes on for too long. He's bleeding all over, he screams, Misa looks away, sweat stings the cuts, and he is exhausted.

Kira's perfect body presses against him, licking the cuts, bathing in red. His eyes have the look of madness, the warmth espoused before now hot like the fires of hell.

Kira and Light. Light who is Kira. They are the same thing, and so easily separable. He wants to think that Light is different from Kira because it isn't always like this. And yet, they really are the same.

As Light finished and felt the blood on his hands, L's mind slipped into darkness thinking 'Only Kira is in there now.'

He laughed at the visual pun. Darkness is the absence of light. The light was gone, and 'Light' was also gone. But it wasn't that funny; it was just darkness.

And then there were no thoughts, only the darkness.

But in a few hours he would wake up again and believe in perfect justice.

And gods that were beautiful.

* * *

Later, in a smaller private room, Light Yagami washed his hands.

As he relaxed for a moment, another dark-haired acolyte calls the room to speak to him.

"Lord Kira, your mother and sister are here to see you," says the man on the monitor.

Every word he dictates drips with respect and enthusiasm. Mikami truly loves Lord Kira, but he is not allowed anywhere near Light's inner sanctum. He has always protected the weak. He would not understand what it really takes to be a god; wouldn't understand his relationship with L; wouldn't understand the true nature of the duality of Kira.

There was no Kira and Light, just Kira and L.

And they always were closer than expected to the same thing.

* * *

**For those who didn't read it:** It turns out L is alive, he just disappeared six years ago instead of being dead. Now Light is keeping him captive and they're living out an even more dreadful version of the Mello/Matt/Near situation from the previous two chapters. Light is beating L badly, and L is trying to let him go insane, and neither is really getting off on it. They're just thinking about things, like they love to do.

And Misa and Rem are there.

Then Mikami tells Light that his mother and sister are in his castle to visit him in order to move the story along and establish that Mikami is there too.

**For those who did read it: **Did I fool anyone into thinking that L was Mikami, for the first part until I said it was L, or was everyone like, "why is L being so OOC?"

I tried to get some realistic thoughts for the characters, sorry everything is starting off so sad and angsty. It was hard to proofread but I wanted to get it up so I could move on.

I think that I'm going to do a chapter on a 'Revenge Triple Whammy' or 'Call me the Butler' before getting back to Matt, Mello, and Near. Tell me if this chapter made you hate the fic enough that you'd rather I do 'Call me the Butler' instead. Or if you want even more angst.


	4. The Ones you Hate

I'm sorry, but instead of the lack of plot that I promised, it took me all chapter for the little bit you'll find here as well as Giovanni's EMO-gasm. The lemon is in the next chapter.

* * *

**The Ones you Hate**

* * *

Stephen Loud, AKA Giovanni, hates Mello. To him, the blonde is a cold-eyed viper, and being near him puts the dark haired man on edge.

Young Stephen had a friend in seventh grade with a pet python. He kept it in a fish tank in their Long Island home, right in the living room next to their CD collection and china cabinet.

It ate live mice.

Stephen watched his friend's older brother drop in the food for it once. It would eat what it wanted and leave the rest alone to be removed whenever one of the owners got around to it. He only saw it fed once, and after that, he didn't go to that boy's house anymore.

Twenty-eight year old Stephen believes that that Mello is something worse, and wishes that he had shot him when he had the chance. Nine agents were dead because of him.

On that day, twenty-six year old Stephen, alone for the first time with an eerie-eyed ghostchild, waiting for body bags to arrive, and feeling adrenalin and a fear more tangible than anything experienced since he believed in under-bed monsters, spun it around on its Herman Miller ergonomic chair and demanded to know why it wasn't properly flipping the fuck out, as the situation demanded.

A different answer would mean he wouldn't be standing here. A different look wouldn't make him feel as bad about standing here as he did. And a bloodsplatter on dice that made every side look like a one, and snakeyes on the white shirt collar of the biggest losing roll of anyone's life, wouldn't have made him feel like a nineteen year old with more plastic toys than Santa's village was less of a child than he was in that moment.

And all twenty-eight year old Stephen could think of right now was snakeyes and mice crawling innocently on a ponderous body that they don't contemplate to be a predator. The same cold-eyed predator that looks at thirteen year old boys through glass with a mouse-sized bulge in the neck that says 'If you were in pieces, I'd do this to you.'

Mello would do that to the world.

Kira was breaking off pieces.

Near could probably see that the screens he was looking at were not as time-sensitive as implied. Giovanni hoped his former boss appreciated his insistence to Mello that it was. It was basically all that he could do for him, since it had been agreed upon that Mello's games were not to interfere with work.

"This flier has been appearing in the Shibuya region?" He asks.  
"Yes, it's made to look like a concert bill, but obviously it is not," Stephen informs, "It's another 'Moon must fall' message. The moon being their reference to Kira's Name, Raito (月)."  
"It looks like we had underestimated the S-group," he said in his semi-interested way, "In terms of motivation anyway."  
"You think it's s-group?" Hale asks.  
"It's their style, don't you think? Plus, we know that they're still active."  
"Do you think that the concert date and venue are of any significance? We've already learned that there's no 'Zakuro 7 Club'," Stephen continues to probe.  
"Zakuro. The pomegranate. The queen of the underworld ate seven seeds of it, and was forced to winter in Hades. For the other five months, she was the goddess of spring."

Giovanni tried to find something in the kitchen to rest his eyes on that was close enough to work and far enough from the naked young man to preserve propriety. There was little that was appropriate in this situation though. He tried not to notice his boss wiping himself off with his hand, the red marks from ribbons where they had dug into his soft skin, and the fact that he had not bothered to take off the garter on his leg. But what should he do in that situation? Acknowledge the garter? Drip on the chair? Nothing seemed appropriate.

Halle tries to be appropriate in her own way. She attempts to give him her short blazer. 'What is that supposed to do, cover his obscene _arms_?' Giovanni thinks.

"Is that a cigarette burn?" she asks, fussing over some area on his chest or stomach that Stephen can't see while he squirms and tries to hide it, to ignore her touch.

"This message is too obvious though," Near continues, just to force attention back to the topic at hand, "If they continue like this, they will be caught."  
"It is a bulletin though, they wanted it disseminated," Halle says.  
"There appear to be backwards characters on that background picture. A name. 'Hitomi Akemi', who is that?"  
"An idol singer," Halle told him, pulling up a dossier, "Real name: Mochizuki Yoko."

The kitchen door cracked and the other boy, the one Stephen hated less, entered.

He had Near's white overshirt draped over his shoulder to give the boy. Giovanni wonders why everyone is giving him shirts.

"Mello says that he's sorry that he upset you and called you a dickhead," he told Stephen. It's obviously a lie. That's not why he dislikes him.

The reason that Giovanni dislikes him is because the kid is literally the most desperate approval-seeking person he's ever met. The way that he tries to befriend and force everyone to get along bothers Giovanni whenever he sees him.

He thought the boy's name was Mutt, at first. That was what Mello called him a few times, and it would be expected that any 'friend' of Mello or Near would have a stupid name. But it was actually 'Matt'. Like 'door-Matt'. Like 'Mello's Matt-ress'.

"Matt, could you please buy this singer's album for us?" Near interrupts.  
"Torrent it, Near," Matt says answers, rolling his eyes.  
"…Of course."

Giovanni knows his type of person, of criminal.

"Anyway, Stephen," (who hates it when he uses his first name), "We support your investigation." (Ugh.)

Desperate approval-seeking, coupled with a vague sense of ethics, misplaced admiration for a killer, and reckless disregard for his own well-being makes him Giovanni's least favourite kind of criminal: The helpful accomplice.

When killers have an accomplice, their crimes are more brutal and numerous. The Lonely Hearts Murders, The Hillside Stranglings - It's all textbook. They feed off each other, and the accomplice is just as responsible as the killer.

He might be alone in this back at the FBI, but he'll _always_ take the extra time, even if the 'real' criminal's caught to make sure that Justice finds the person who helped beat the woman before she was killed, who handed the killer his knife and cleaned it off afterwards. Because they are scum too, and they usually get off easy… with a sob-story, or a plea bargain… but it's their own weakness that makes them what they are. They're just looking for someone to shake their stick and tell them to go fetch.

Matt makes Near practice little tricks to amuse Mello, but the one thing that he asks the waif to do for himself makes Giovanni sick.

Whenever Matt leaves the apartment and returns, an almost daily occurrence, despite safety concerns, Near must drop what he's doing, and go to him as quickly as possible, throw his arms around him, smile, and pretend he's happy to see him.

Near says, "Welcome home, Matt. I missed you", sounds happy, smiles, and receives a hug. When his stand-in love is done slobbering all over him, Matt gives him a little something. Cards, or dice, or dominos. Near thanks him, Giovanni throws up in his mouth, and Near says what he is expected to say: "I love you, Matt."

Does his real boyfriend ever tell him that? Possibly. It doesn't matter.

Now there's music playing on laptop speakers. That was fast.

"I apologize for my outburst." Is added to the tableau of lies that make up their daily lives. So that Matt can pretend that he's happy, Mello can play in the chaos like a pig in mud, and he and Halle can make-believe that they are normal, professional adults - with boundaries, and manners, and a chance at a future.  
"Thank you for opening your home to us." Halle adds politely, knowing that Mello is just waiting for Near to screw up so he can kick them out on their professional asses.

'Is it meant to be ironic?' Giovanni wonders. Too subtle to tell, too perfect not to be. He wished that he knew her better, but she keeps herself a closed book.

He wonders if Matt gave his little _boss_ head right after those nine names were written in the Death Note. 'Good job, Mello. Way to do whatever the hell you want.'

He wonders if he got to sleep with Mello - in a bed with pillows and sheets - while Giovanni and Halle on the other side of the country slept in hospital chairs waiting for autopsies and growing ten years older in a single night. While _human_ men, who let sleepless nights rub deeper rings around their eyes because stopping this from happening again – all over the world - is their only reason to live, pick up dice and rebuild what was lost…

"Persephone is the signature. I think that this date is actually an address," Near thinks aloud, "The characters in the background and the picture of the singer are the clues. Once we find out the address we'll have a point of contact in S-group."

Picks up the pieces and rebuilds. A tower... An operation… The world.

Just like he always…

didn't.

"It's strange, but I get the feeling that eveything about s-group screams '17-year old Japanese girl'."  
"Maybe that's your boner screaming that," Matt can't help but say. He knows that it's inappropriate now. And too damn... chummy, if you were to ask Stephen.  
"S-group's pop culture references might indicate that is part of the profile," Halle tells Near. _Did she just smile a bit?_  
"The imagery is always feminine. No matter," he digresses, "We don't need to profile them right now, just solve this puzzle."

Giovanni hates Matt, Mello, Halle. But they're not the ones he hates most.

He hated Near from the start. Since he met him. But first it was fear – the kind that comes from lack of understanding. A shallow fear. Now he knows him better. He's a coward, a tool, a loser. He knew that he couldn't do this, but he tried anyway and made the government waste resources, LIVES, on a game. He keeps trying because he's been programed, he's useless otherwise. And even though he hates what they're doing - to him, to everything - he _cares about_ these awful people.

Yes, Giovanni hates Near. But between the desperate moment when he looked a ghost in the face and found a human staring back with fire in his lacquer eyes and this week, there was something else.

Something unprofessional, immature, and entirely unreasonable. Something stupid.

Which is why he hates himself now most of all.

* * *

**Thanks for reading all of that, if you did.**

Wow, Giovanni sure has a lot of hate.

I promise to get back to the sexy, sexy Near-torture soon. **If you don't review** I will put up a chapter where someone else _has thoughts_ for 2k words again though.


	5. Normal Life

I'm going to keep writing in the present tense for now. Until I start reading better books or learn to write. Or never. Until then, it's a party where everybody writes in present tense, and only I am invited. Why'd I start last chapter? Because.

But, if you find it hard to read, just tell me to stop. I know that this is a thing for some people.

Now, although this chapter is long and contains thoughts and plot-things at first, I assure you that there is a lemon towards the end, helpfully marked with a special lemon-line.

* * *

**Normal Life**

* * *

Near works long into the night, obsessed. The puzzle entrances him. Mello joins Matt in the kitchen when his mood improves, like nothing ever happened, and they help for a while. They don't give him orders or say many stupid, trivial things. It's how it should be – except for the nudity.

The agents take their leave and go to bed in their room after a few hours.

"You've got the bed tonight," Giovanni tells Halle.  
"We can share if you like." She offers politely.  
He declines, like she'll decline tomorrow when he offers. Sleeping on the floor is good for his back. She finds the room too uncomfortably warm every second day.

They are professionals.

She lies on her side facing the wall, and he lies on his back. Just thinking.

After a few minutes he asks, "Lidner, what is it with you?"  
"What do you mean?" she drowses. What a bothersome question.  
"Why doesn't anything bother you?"

She doesn't answer.

"I cracked. I knew that it would be me first, and not you."  
"Giovanni," she says, with the stark, refined circumspection of a scolding librarian, turning around to face him. He can barely see the outline of her face in the darkness. It's different from before, but still Halle; blunt and beautiful as ever.

They just stare for a moment.

"Do you _really_ want to have a little heart-to-heart chat about how badly our lives have turned out?" she demands imperturbably.

In the kitchen, Near continues his work. The seventh song on the album is a single, it has a sound effect of a phone being dialled. That's another seven, he notes. S-group certainly does love symbols.

"Someone, get me a- May I use a phone please? I need it to decipher these numbers."  
"Sure, Matt's mobile's in the charger," Mello states through chocolate, still looking through the Shibuya Tourist Guide.

Near remembers when people brought things to him and wonders if it'll ever come back. Even if not, being L for a little while was a small blip of perfection in his life. Halcyon days, compared to this. Even now there are still small moments of pleasure.

While he's retrieving, Matt wrote the numbers in the song down for him, leaving the slip of paper lying across his keyboard.

"Acoustic analysis wouldn't have worked with that," Mello explains, not especially like he's rubbing it in.  
"My old mobile uses a DTMF Freq 1 keypad, that was a Freq 2 keypad. Way more common in Japan," Matt continues.  
"We learned this stuff when we bugged that chick's place."  
"Pfft, I already knew it. Basic spying and phone phreaking."

Mello pushes his friend playfully. For knowing something before him? Because he likes pushing people? Near doesn't care right now, they have the address.

"Thank you Mello. Thank you Matt," Near says, practicing his 'non-creepy smile'. Matt doesn't tell him that it's a little off. Mello doesn't call him a stupid douchebag.

"It's a café," Matt says even though they can all see that, and it does not need to be said.  
"The pomegranate is a shibboleth," Near tells them. Stopping there because this is a conversation between three people, not just him explaining things to everyone, and he is not sure how he feels about that.  
"What makes you say that?" Matt asks, giving Near the anticipated cue to continue.  
"Because S-Group uses symbols of being 'on the inside'. Persephone was a goddess trapped in the underworld. They could be looking for a specific person, but this has been going on too long and they haven't changed their approach."  
"So, like maybe, you order something with a pomegranate and find out more?"  
"I am not really sure."  
"If Matt goes there he'll know," Mello finishes.

And so they've solved the puzzle. Who ever said they couldn't work together?

But unfortunately for Near, the euphoria, the fun of work, the engagement of his mind, is over. Now he has to feel stupid. He notices now that he's still wearing the neck ribbon from earlier, and the stupid bluish leg-thing that Matt put on him. He doesn't want to take it off while they're watching, it'll just draw their attention. He begins to twist his hair more anxiously, draw his leg closer to his chest.

"Nice. It's only 1am. Are you guys tired?" Matt asks.

Mello leans his elbow onto the table and smiles warmly, "Not yet. I want to play 'slaveboys' before we go to sleep."  
"Oh, I want to play," Matt answers eagerly. "I get to be a slaveboy!"

This is actually a joke. Near knows because they chuckle.  
"Near," Mello whispers sweetly, leaning in close so that his breath can brush pale skin, "I'm in a cruel mood tonight. I want both of my slaveboys to play with."

Near thinks that it seems pointless answer like Matt does, but can't just say nothing. He knows that if he sounds too eager he will only be teased longer.

"I am already your 'slaveboy'," he replies with a chin-tucked-into-the-neck, pursed-lipped look that Mello finds adorably moody.  
"That's right, Near." He says, touching his lip with a black nail-polished finger, "I can make you do whatever I want."

He grins, and then cocks his head to the side, "Back to work, Near."

He instructs them to remove all of their clothing and walk naked to the master bedroom. Back in the second bedroom Stephen tries unsuccessfully to find an ally against insanity.

"Sorry, Halle. I just wanted to relate to a person who's not crazy for a while."  
"What if I am crazy? What if we have nothing to talk about? What if we fight? Professional distance keeps us from hating the people we work with."  
"I don't understand why you still want to keep a 'professional distance' with all… whatever this is… going on."  
"Because I _am_ a professional."  
"When was your last paycheck?"  
"That's not what it means to be a professional."  
"We could ask one of the human dictionaries out there," he tries.

But she's already turned away. The conversation is over.

"Goodnight, Lidner."  
"Goodnight, Giovanni."

Giovanni puts in his earplugs, just in case, on the other side of the apartment, something would make a sound that would disturb his sleep.

* * *

On the other side of the apartment, the three younger men are entering the master bedroom. It's big for a Japanese apartment, but most of the room is still taken up by the bed.

"All right, boys," he commands, smearing his words a bit against a taut smirk, "Get on the bed and show off those tight, pretty, little asses of yours."

Near saw how Matt crouched down on his hands and knees. He mimicked the action and was pulled closer and further down, onto his elbows, by the other boy. Thigh-to-thigh they await their Master's instruction while he takes off his shirt and puts on his gloves.

He feels like punishing them tonight. And he thinks that those tight little asses would look so much prettier with some thick vibrating dildos shoved up inside. And if he happened to be slapping them with his favourite heart-shaped leather paddle then so much the better.

"Very nice," Mello purrs, leaning down and languidly placing a hand on each of his slaves. Matt arches his back beautifully for his master's touch, always nice and eager to please. Near, always hesitant to upset, is just still. Mello focuses his attention on him, dusting his leather-coated fingertips lightly along his the backs of his thighs to cause some reaction. He randomly places his strokes, so that Near won't know where the next would fall. An involuntary quiver when Mello touches the back of his knee is what betrays him.

Satisfied, Mello slaps him on the hip, the sound and sensation dulled by the glove. The unexpected impact pushes him into Matt, but rights himself quickly.

Mello gives the gamer a little attention now, he's so much more deserving, but at the same time, Near is so much more fun to play this game with. He's a real slaveboy, after all.

Matt's legs are a little bit longer, and his limbs are leaner, more sinewy than Near's. He's rougher, but in a good, more masculine way. Mello cups his ass with both hands and gives each side a firm, slow, spreading squeeze, causing an ecstatic gasp when he finally pinches tightly enough. After a few moments teasing the area under his balls Mello can feel Matt's excitement, and removes his hand.

"Master, please touch me more." Matt whines. He knows what Mello likes. Mello complies with a slap his hip that jostles him into Near. When the albino catches Matt's eye again and finds the brunette smiling playfully back at him, because Mello knows what Matt likes too.  
"There you are, pet. Do you like that touch?"  
"Yes, master, I like it."  
Mello smirks, "Sit up, Dog, and show me how much you like it."

Near, thinking of how similar all of Mello's games are, turns his head slightly and looks on as Matt kneels with his back straight and his arms held tightly to his sides. He can see most of Matt's erection from this angle, but he's not sure that he's allowed to look. He's seen it before, but he still wants to look now. He hasn't seen what a circumcision looks this closely, so he tells himself that it's mostly scientific curiosity, as his mouth waters a bit.

Near's _very detached empirical observation_ shows Matt apparently likes it quite a bit. His aroused cock curves upward, the prominent head flushed, as if blushing.

"Near, Kitten, sit up now, like Matt does," Mello demands, without looking over at him.

Near does as he's told and Mello walks slowly around the bed and leans down to inspect from the front.

"Very nice, Matty." Mello praises, leaning in to touch the tip of the taller boy's cock very deliberately, "I can see my good little slaveboy's already very hard." Matt groans while Mello swirls the little pool of precum and pulls his finger back, quickly letting go so that Matt's ridged cock sways.

"And my _bad_ little slaveboy," He says to Near, in the same languorous voice, "I have a game for you tonight."

Earlier in the evening, Matt was going to show him Near's new trick. He's taught him to cum when he's told. Mello doesn't really believe it though, Near was so sensitive and deprived that they could make him cum with just a little teasing before.

It was fun at first to force him to unwillingly squirt sticky, white rivers all the way onto his own chest, without even touching his dick. It almost makes up for all the teasing Mello had to endure from his silence and stuck-up little attitude back at Whammy House. Near would try with such endearing futility not to get hard, not to make any sounds, to turn off all feeling, but he always lost in the end. Mello remembers what a sense of power from doing that. Satisfying, like a particularly rich chocolate syrup, sweet and unctuous on the tongue.

But it's getting old quickly, and Near needs to learn some self-control before the time comes to try even better things.

With both hands Mello stretches a wide blue circle of plastic. "Do you know what this is?"  
"Yes, Master... A cock-ring," Near answers with a dry-sounding throat.  
"That's right." Mello smiles, and flicks at the tip of his snobbishly upturned nose. Then he turns his attention to the other boy and brushes a light line down the underside of Matt's engorged erection, making him moan.

"Sweet, naughty boy," he purrs to his friend, "you're going to play too. Your master's going to keep you nice and hard like this until he's ready to make you cum." Mello continues with a silky voice, as he smoothes the tousle of dark hair at the base of Matt's manhood, then slides the stretched blue ring down the length. He lets go of the handles and adjusts the snug position.

"You don't get one, Near." Mello explains, picking up and toying with a purple vibrator, "The game is: I'm going to tease both of you, and if you can hold out without orgasming until I tell you to, you can sleep in the bed with us tonight, fool around, and take a bath with us tomorrow morning. If that's not reason enough, I have a special punishment if you don't do it."

Mello is now tracing the pouting lower lip with one glove, as his other hand dips under his stomach, between alabaster legs and cradles the swelling package. His little white face is now burning with perfect irritation. "I'm going to tie you up with really complicated knots that'll take a while to undo, make you cum all over yourself, then leave you on the kitchen table all night for Halle and Dickhead to find you in the morning. But not before Me and Matt cum on your face too."

Chagrined, bushing Near-faces never get old.

"Yes, Master," he says, "I'll try my best."  
"Matty, if he can't do it, you have to sleep on the floor for lying."  
"Yes, Master."

"Back in your positions." Mello orders.

When they comply, he gently holds the thick, curvy, textured vibrators in front of each of their faces, so they can see what's going to be inside them in just a few moments.

"Lick them," he coldly commands.

When his eyes meet Matt's he sees his good slaveboy flash a half smile before averting his gaze. He dips his head down to lick the large object reverently, letting Mello see his tongue pull slowly up and down the instrument, coating it with glistening saliva.

Mello takes the objects away and moves back to the other side of the bed without a word of praise to either of them. Just a cursory squirt of lube on each dildo is all they're going to get, Mello's wanted to do this for hours. For just a moment he rubs the tips around each tight entrance, working the first inch or so in with a circular motion. Near's already writhing nervously, but Mello's not going to tell him it will be OK, or that it will only hurt at first. He does push down on the small of his back, though, telling him to arch his spine like Matt does, so he looks much prettier.

Matt knows what's coming and hums in pleasure and anticipation, swaying just enough that Mello can see his cock nod from side to side between his spread legs.

He pushes both in at once, taking in the gasps and groans he hears and admiring the sight. Near even squeaks a bit, and Mello thinks that it's just perfect.

"Master... please!" Matt moans, pushing his ass back into Mello's hand, but it's useless; Mello will start moving it when he's ready.

Matt begins to roll his hips, but Mello just slaps him on the thigh, and admires the two snug, velvet rings stretched around the purple toys. Two boys filled so fully and under his control at once. He spreads their cheeks and thumbs the edges where skin meets silicone, teasing out moans and whimpers, before drifting his hands away to the handles and finding the buttons that turn the vibrations on.

"Now it's time for you to squirm for me," he smiles, pushing the switches to the first setting.

And they do. Matt loves the feeling, and knows the shape and sensation of the toy well. He remembers buying a second one, and bringing it home in preparation for a night like this. But right now, he thinks only of the sparkling, tingly, full sensation that it causes. It's hot, but it's teasing, and it only makes him want more. He wants Mello to twist it around, thrust it, and turn the vibrations up.

Near can feel his balls tighten and his cock become harder from the penetration. There was a burning, stretching pain at first, which he would never admit to liking on its own merit, but he knows it to be temporary. The humming protrusion sends waves of sensation through his nerves, and he almost wants to move with them. Resisting is like standing in the ocean, resting his feet on the sand and letting the waves crash into him, instead of floating on top. Which is to say, it isn't that hard to resist. He thinks that he can win this game. He's learned that it requires him to pay attention to his state of arousal, instead of trying to think about something else. He can feel Mello's hands caress him, and that stokes the fire beginning to burn on his skin and through his muscles, but he will hold out.

Mello moves to the front again to watch their faces. Two sets of half-lidded eyes, avoiding his piercing, blue gaze; Two panting, pink mouths, wetted by soft tongues; Two wriggling boys, suffering for his pleasure. Beautiful.

"Such pretty little pets," he quietly says, while he watches them. He then loosens the strings holding his pants closed, letting the material slide slightly down his hips to tease them, then stops and puts a hand out in front of each of their faces, "Take my gloves off."

He sees Near take deep breaths, as he gently bites the middle finger and pulls the leather back. The air feels cool on his hands. He turns his attention to Matt, and sees that he smiles lustily around the glove still in his teeth.

Mello takes the gloves away and glides his fingers down his stomach to finish unfastening his tight, leather trousers.

"I was going to paddle your asses ruddy tonight, but I don't want to give Near an advantage," he sulks, as he slowly slides the leather down his lean thighs and kicks the pants off, "I hate not getting everything I want, so you better hope you can win this, Near. Or you'll be sorry."

Mello comes out hard, his gorgeous cock pointing straight ahead, as he steps up onto the bed.

"Watch me, Matt," he says, and lifts Near's small body, leaning him back along the length of the bed, and whispering not to move. Mello rests his rival's head softly against the pillows, with the dildo still sending shivers through his slender legs.

Now precious, perfect, lilly-white Near, who always gets what he wants, is now struggling and failing to be still and deepen his ragged breath, while Mello, who always came second, presses his scarred and hardship-galvanized body against every inch of the differences between them. The albino is fisting the blankets tightly, moving his hips just slightly, and Mello can feel his cottony hair dampening with sweat while his arousal twitches against Mello's hard stomach.

He's animated like this for Mello, only Mello, whose thick erection is now squeezed between creamy thighs, feeling the leftover vibrations that travel through the boy's underworked muscles. Did he think Mello wouldn't notice that? God, how Mello wants to fuck him. But he won't; not until the little princess begs for it.

_'One day, he will,'_ Mello assures himself. For now, the toy inside of him is turned up to its maximum setting. A little bit more of this and his cock's going to be dripping wet like it was earlier that night. Mello just teases with quick, gentle kisses on his neck, and soft caressing touches along his smooth chest, which journey progressively lower. Then looks back at Matt, who is trying his best to sit still and be patient, with desire painting his face scarlet and lust darkening his eyes.

"Now it's your turn," Mello tells him, peeling himself away from snowy flesh and slinking closer to the panting brunette.

And, as the feral blonde kisses him roughly, Matt can feel urgent fingertips scratching his back, wandering his sides, and pulling him into a position mimicking the one his master took earlier over the albino. His head is swimming from the attention, but he's vaguely aware of Mello's intentions to use him against himself in the little game they're playing. Matt doesn't care about losing, he just has to sleep on the floor if he does. Even though Near was supposed to be rewarded tonight, he really just cares about the intense, throbbing, desire to cum.

Mello whispers in his ear to do whatever he wants to Near, while he moves behind both of them and kisses the small of Matt's back lightly, watching his boys move together and touch lips with a tentative, hesitant sweetness. He grabs the handle of Matt's toy and turns the setting up. Watching the brunette take his reaction out on Near, who obstinately continues his little breathing exercise, Mello lazily strokes his friend's back with one hand. With his other hand, he thumbs around the vibrating toy before grabbing the handle. Matt could never win against him. It's cute that he doesn't even try anymore. Or maybe he loves humiliating Near as much as his master does. Mello decides that he'll have to ask later.

Now Matt can feel the vibrator twisting back and forth with a slick gliding sensation. On top of Near he moans shamelessly, and clutches the white shoulders tightly. The boy's pale hands instinctively move to grasp his arms comfortingly, the most brazen move he's made all night, and then fall away, while Mello, encouraged by the sounds, begins to slowly work the silicone phallus out of Matt, until he finds just the right spot.

Near tries harder to stay calm, yet present, when he feels Matt's kisses heating up. Urgently they fall, and fast, forcing his mouth open, sucking on his tongue. Matt's hands hold his sides, deeply kneading his flesh, as the brunette alternates between pressing his naked body against his own, and pushing back into Mello's thrusts. Near kisses back and begins to move his hands cautiously on the sweat-dampened surface of the other's back, fully expecting to be slapped on the hand or made fun of, but somehow uncaring. As long as he gets to feel the ropey roughness of the taller boy's body. His hand meets another on the shoulderblade, and both pull away at once, as if shocked. But Mello doesn't slap him, he just smirks like this is part of his victory, and Near continues to feel the pull in his groin growing stronger. As if his body is a marionette with strings connected to the muscles of Mello's face, and this is the first act of a somewhat-sick shoebox-commedia.

Suddenly, Matt is pushed to one side, and feels himself succumb to emptiness as his toy is taken away. Luckily, it is replaced almost instantly by slippery fingers, and Near is thrust on top of him, needy, warm, and still virginally kissing. Now Matt's chin rests on top of fields of powder snow, feeling the heat rise. He can see Mello ready himself while soft-lipped kisses bring forgotten nerves life on his collarbone, telegraphing messages to his constrained cock that it's about damn time to cum already.

"I suppose you get round one, Near. But now," Mello whispers, "Now, I'm going to fuck Matt right in front of you. You're going to be right between us, getting jerked off, and you can't do anything about it." he almost sang the words. To Mello, it's another moment when all is right with the world. He takes the unintelligible mewling from Near as his answer, letting the 'call me master' thing go for now because he is _not _about to pull away from his loyal Matt's twitching entrance for some spanking bullshit right now. Not when the little puppy was panting so needily, looking so hot under the creampuff pecking his sharp jawline and licking his sensitive earlobes.

Matt watches Mello's wide eyes soften and close as he replaces fingers with the tip of his length and begins to push in. Mello is leaning down, licking his lips for a kiss, and Near is heating up his inexperienced touches. Matt has one hand in candy-fluff, and the other in cornsilk. He can feel the small hands on his hips, but it's hard to distinguish who is doing what as the pace becomes more frantic.

Now Mello is beginning to thrust into the already slick and stretched asshole. He feels the tightness, almost excruciating at first, but familiar in the best sort of way. He knows every inch of that little, ginger dog-boy; they've been inseparable since - who cares how long?

To Matt, the pleasantly full feeling brings a satisfaction that can't be met by anything else. Mello knows just how to position his legs so that his thrusts assault his sweet-spot directly, bringing him closer to his controlled orgasm with coaxing shots of pleasure. Matt groans hungrily for more. Their hands meet between his belly and Near's, when they both make the move to start pulling albino joystick, and Matt suddenly realizes, with only the most cursory of cares, that the hand lightly fingering his own shaft was not Mello's after all.

In the manic haze, Matt sees Mello lost in dreamy pleasure, biting the air and alternating touches with his free hand between his partners. The little plaything between them is doing well, but panting, biting his lip, and squeezing his eyelids tight. He has this way of going from 'punchable' to adorable from moment-to-moment in Matt's mind, and he wants to replace the hand stroking him off with some kind of comforting touch, but it's a peripheral concern. The feeling of his hand, touching Mello's hand, touching Near, is a memory he wants to hold on to. The other boy is mercifully short enough that Mello can catch Matt's waiting lips over his fluffy head when the smallest nuzzles frantically into Matt's burning chest.

Mello wants this moment to last, but he can only hold onto the white-hot cresting sensation so long. Matt's so tight, and his moans so enticing; Near's little, indigent noises and uncertain motions so charming. He breaks away from the gamer's hot mouth and leans down to whisper in the other's ear that it's time to take off the ring.

"I want you to do it, Near. Just pull the handles and open it," he murmurs, guiding pale, slender hands in the motion, still driving rhythmically.  
"Mello!" Matt grits.  
"Come, Matt," he pants, "Do it now."

There's a choked cry of "Ah", and Near can feel a sharp bite on his shoulder take over his awareness. Then, hot ichor coats his hand and stomach, cooling instantly, mocking his own desire to come. Letting go in the clasp of Matt's violent release, Mello feels the anger, the fear, the love - all feeling abandon him, leaving only the glittering, white joy. The ecstasy and union, and every inch of what holds them together, in a world that's falling apart.

Mello can only stay in this heaven for so long, before coming back down from post-coital bliss. He slumps happily off to the side, pulling Near on top, almost as an afterthought. While Matt lies, coming down with contented sighs, naturally evening out his breaths, Mello holds Near languidly.

The white-haired man continues to twist his hips, almost choking on his pathetic, stifled urges. Just like Mello always wanted. Now, Near comes last.

His damp, dewy flesh looks so pretty as the boy opens his limpid eyes, begging silently. Mello swirls the wand still inside him with almost lazy ambivalence, wondering if it seems too artificial.

The small 'Mmmf' sounds and mewlings caught in the back of his throat are almost enough to make Mello think of getting hard again, but he knows he can't hold this for long either. He brings his hand back into position coiled tightly around the stiff, surprisingly thick and hard, dripping organ, with what seems like great deliberation, pulls expertly, with little twists near the tip, and manipulates the dying vibrator still inside his pet with his spare hand.

Near can't take anymore. He couldn't take any more for a while. Mello knows he can win if he wants, and that's enough for him.

"Come, Near," he whispers, watching with almost scientific curiosity, the youngest let his mouth fall open to a throaty cry. He tries to turn his head away, but Mello keeps it in place, watching his steely pretences melt away into rapturous vivacity, so that the moment is perfect for both of them.

To Near, the much-delayed snap is like being shot in the brain, or falling into a warm lake. He can't help but shout in an unguarded voice. A melodic, alto nothing. Mello's fingers dent his cheeks, but he doesn't care about anything else but the flowing, scrunching, vibrant, _indescribable_ feeling of release. He thrashes out a wet, glistening stream onto his chest, and for a moment, neither thinks nor feels anything, but gentle floating.

Coming down is, all at once, like falling asleep and being forced to wake up. Near is exhausted. He guardedly sinks his head into the pillow next to Mello's, hoping that he will actually get to stay. Matt tells them he's going to clean up in the bathroom, and takes the toys away.

Mello tells Near, with a yawn, that he is allowed to touch him now. He's not sure if Mello means 'from now on' or just right now. He's not sure if he's allowed to touch the scar either, but it's on the side facing him. He's curious about the texture, and wonders how it feels. He wonders how Mello experiences touch through it. Does it hurt? He starts with a cautiously flat palm against Mello's stomach, and feels it with his wrist at first. But Mello sees through that ruse - He's a genius, after all – and cups Near's hand with his own, rubbing the ruined left side of his face against it.

The moment seems strangely devoid of anything. Animosities left outside like roaming wolves, shut out from the glowing campfire of the here and now. Matt comes back eventually and joins the tangle of two rivals, somehow filling the leftover space perfectly.

To Near, wrapped between warm bodies, peppered with kisses and soft, wonderful touch as he drifts into welcome sleep, it's a small slice of perfection. Perhaps, just another blip. Perhaps the way it was always supposed to be. Perhaps it's just normal, and he shouldn't be so uptight about things.

But really, it's a campfire and torch-song in a forest infested with red-eyed wolves.

It's their life.

* * *

**AN:**

I know that this chapter is HEUGLEIKXBOX, and whatnot, but I'm trying to establish the theme of 'Normal life', and I am all about themes.

I really had to stop and write a chapter of Revenge Tripple Whammy in the middle of this in order to keep from writing lines like this:

(When Mello references the 'show me how much you like it' line from the chapter "Kid's Games") "Near doesn't see how 'slaveboys' is much different from the un-named game that he has taken to privately calling 'stupid-animal-pretend-time' except that Matt is in it too, so he decides that he likes it much better."

I showed tremendous restraint in both not making fun of this, not having Near lampshade the incredibly dubious consent situation going on here, AND not going into overly-specific dick descriptions.

(When Near's admiring Matt's awesome dick) "When he's flaccid, the exposed glans looks somewhat indecent, but when he's hard, it's almost the same, only it thins out before the head." Wooo, hott. :-|

Hilariously, this isn't even the darkest Mello/Near ever.

Sorry to the random reviewer that didn't like Giovanni's part in the last chapter. I don't even know what you didn't like because you really didn't mention any specifics. But that's cool. He's still a character in this, and he'll get less stupid. I count your review as a positive nudge to write more smut. So if it was a flame, try again.

This chapter is SO LONG it's basically a fanfic in itself, **and I know you liked it**, so you better review. Do it now, or you will never get to read about Mello using his paddle, EVER. (I can hold out if you can. :-|)


	6. The Ones who Love

**The Ones who Love**

* * *

This is sort of like the chapter 'The ones you Hate'.

Summary at the bottom for skippers. Warning, this chapter contains Het.

* * *

Her name's Halle Bullock. And yes, she's heard all of the jokes before. She went to highschool too, thanks. That's 'Bullock' as in 'Bullocks'. As in 'cajones'. As in what she's metaphorically got more of than every man here, and can usually say that about any room that she walks into.

But she goes by 'Lidner' now, and she's not sure that the description above fits her at all anymore.

Halle Lidner is a CIA agent, now second in command of the SPK, former secret service member, and a consummate professional. But, every second night since she got here, she waits for the dark-haired man on the floor to fall the fuck asleep already so that she can stretch out, bury her face in the pillow, and make herself ridiculous. It hasn't happened yet; she can tell when she hears his deep breaths and chorus of soft snores. Why won't he just get to sleep?

She's pathetic. She's 29. (She's been 29 for two years, running, actually.) She shouldn't getting her panties wet thinking about gay 23 year olds. She shouldn't be thinking about what they're doing to a 21 year old, who is also… _was_ also… her boss.

Outside the room she hears murmuring, then silence. Then, eventually, Giovanni's breath evens, and soft snores begin. Music to her ears. She begins to play her own kind of soft music between the cotton of her hypocritically modest nightdress and her now unnecessarily pretty underwear, with the accompaniment of her unknowing orchestra on the other side of the apartment.

God damn, she's a sleezebucket. But it's unfair, unfair, un-fucking-fair. She shouldn't be stuck in Japan, in a tiny apartment, with a fake name, with no one to really talk to, and a professional façade that's growing more threadbare than the knees of the albino's pyjamas. Kira shouldn't still be out there, killing whoever he wants without thinking of who gets caught in the crossfire, ruining everything that's good about Goodness by removing the choice.

She tried so hard to stop that. She hedged her bets… Honestly, if you had walked into that gleaming metal Midtown tower - through its banks of security, and walls of glittering tech - and seen a dishevelled, mousy, Rainman Jr. at the helm like a living joke when there's so much at stake, would you put all your money on that lame pony?

She wishes that she had. She's come to respect him so much since then. And even more since four days ago, when he offered his precious arrogance – the only thing he had left - for their safety. When she starts to sweat and breath faster, pushing her face into the pillows that smell vaguely like Giovanni's hair, she can almost hear the boy moan in a beautiful breathy voice as Mello punishes him, "I take this for you, Halle." (Even though she'd take gladly anything, if it was Mello doing it.)

She shouldn't mommy Near, she thinks. She can tell he resents it. But she can't help it; She's a protector. When she was a little girl, and her friends dreamed of marrying a prince, she dreamed of saving the president. Her, in her dark, dark glasses and black, black slacks and blazer, would spy the sniper in the building on the corner before anyone else did... She should also try be nice to that snoring, inferior-organization fratboy, she thinks. Should have talked to him about how his outburst made him look like the biggest sputtering asshole she's ever seen, rather than possibly let him think that its ok with her if he wants to whip out his heterosexual male privilege and wave it around like a big swinging dick.

Great. Now she thought about his dick. Actually, that's fine with her. She thinks about it again, imagines it insultingly small, and imagines clothes pins pinching the scrotum, administered by Mello while his redhaired assistant binds the older man's arms above his head. Mello, in thigh-high boots and nothing else. Maybe gloves, or a harness, but nothing substantial. The redhead is completely naked, completely hard, and Near, just happily curled up in the nice leather chair stacking chocolate truffles, remarks that this is a much better deal for absolutely everyone who matters. Mello has a large dildo in his hand, suddenly. He holds it to Giovanni's face, now gagged (always gagged), in a threatening way, teasing the line of the man's jaw and tracing down his bare, probably slightly hairy chest. All the way down, past his tortured genitals to his waiting (auspiciously already-lubed, as if it matters) virgin ass.

Then he turns and offers the object to her with his naughtiest smirk, "Care to do the honours, Halle?"

She would love to. But it's him that she throws down, not the older man. And the toy is double ended now, so that she can feel what she's doing to that dangerously beautiful body of his.

"Mello, you little slut, this is what you get fore teasing all the boys. For teasing me," she thinks, as she fucks him in her mind, her fingers slipping between her wet inner walls, plunging, like the fake cock deep-dicking Mello in her dreams. Her clit rubs against her own soft, moistened palm as she thrusts against her own hand, against the shitty futon mattress that springs back in a way that's nothing like a warm human body.

Her motion is too rough, she realizes, and she doesn't want the bed to squeak. So now she's sitting on one of the other one's faces (She doesn't care which), riding their soft little tongue, (which is really a glisteningly wet knuckle) and sucking a beautiful, blonde-nested cock, cupping the firm ass (still accentuated by thigh-high boots) with her hands so that she controls his thrusts completely. The tongue beneath her is very skilled because she knows what she likes. She is the biggest creep that she's ever met, so how about it's Near doing this?

Her fantasy is so stupid, but she's spent her whole life pursuing a childish fantasy, hasn't she? She did it all for black, black sunglasses, red, red lipstick, and an ID badge with her name on it under the letters C.I.A. It's already destroyed her, so why stop now?

She can hear his moans – real ones – through the walls. His tongue looks so soft and pink. His warm, bony fingers, with their delicate square knuckles, massage her labia and tease her clit like he's actually done this before. Even in her own fantasy, when she looks down at his smooth, boyish face, he seems vaguely like he doesn't want this.

Imaginary Matt hasn't been molested yet, she thinks, but she's already close. He's off the imaginary hook for now, while Imaginary Mello and Near taunt her to breathless orgasm.

She shakes, draws out the feeling, so that she can stave off the guilt for a bit longer, and then relaxes completely.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she thinks.

Sharing a cramped room, far from home, unable to escape the feeling of foreignness that was once exciting. Now even subtle differences in the architecture mock the fact that she'll probably never be home again. This is what losing feels like.

Halle Lidner. Halle B-. She's spent her whole life pursuing childish fantasies, and up until right now, she's never had a problem taking what she wants. She's not really a protector, though. It was all selfish masturbation.

When she was a little girl, she played make-believe. She dreamed of saving the president. She, with her blonde pigtails and red, red grown-up-lady lipstick, would jump in front of the .50 caliber bullet, save the president on TV, and be a hero. A hero, shattered to pieces and buried in a black, black coffin, draped with the American flag.

Selfish.

* * *

She slips the heavy collar off as soon Light's gone because she's no prisoner. She's anxious to dress and fix her makeup before she sees Mrs. Yagami and Sayu-chan.

"Misa," L says, trying to get her attention from the floor.

He wants the balm that he uses to soothe the welts and the bleeding, but she doesn't have time, and, well, she doesn't _want_ to do anything for him.

They were supposed to be friends, weren't they? The three of them. But he was lying. He was nothing like Light, pure, and good, and perfect. L was dark, and mean, and flawed.

She was supposed to be the queen of the new world. She won! But why is _he_ at Light's side too?

* * *

The two women sit across from God on lavish Louis XIV style sofas, a modern glass coffee table hosts a tea service. Even this small, private sitting room feels cumbersomely huge with its high ceilings. There's no escaping the burdensome ostentatiousness, no way to feel at home, to convince yourself sit any other way than with your back perfectly straight.

But Light does look at home.

"Are you going to tell me that I'll finally be allowed to audition to become one of your Adjudicators?" Sayu asks, in the familiar but terse way that she does which mocks her former cheerfulness. She hasn't sounded the same since she started talking again.

"Please, don't ask again," Light says with his soft, easy charm, "You know that I can't make my sister one of my top officials. It'll look like I'm playing favourites. If you want to be closer to the palace, I'll just buy you a new apartment," he teases.

"Bro-ther!" Even the childish outburst lacks a certain innocent quality that only the less perceptive would miss. "I've been doing really well at the academy, and placed third on the exams. And you said that you had something to tell me."

"I do," he smiled.

"Then what is it?"

"I want you to go to an omiai," he said seriously, still positively swishing with his effortless grace.

An bothersomly old-fashioned arranged marriage meeting. A beautiful blushing girl in a nice kimono. Perhaps a little paper parasol. Maybe, in the background, a path of rustic stepping stones in a sunny garden with old-world shrine or a little stream with a bridge over it. Sayu's face can't really be said to fall, since she had barely perked up to begin with, but her eyes still sink to the floor.

"How nice," her mother says for her, smiling. She always said little, only when necessary, and always the thing that seemed perfectly right… to the outside observer. There was defiantly a little bit of her in both of them.

Light leans forward and the look on his face is more solemn, "It's with my top Judge," he says.

"Sayu, isn't that nice?" Sachiko prompts.

"I'm honoured," she replies with a graveness which could easily be mistaken for sincerity.

An older man, Sayu knows him by sight and doesn't think much. There's little chance, she knows, that the couple's impressions of one another will change the outcome. She'll be 'encouraged' so much by her family that there's no way to to see this meeting as anything other than a sentence.

Luckily, she further reply is not necessary. Misa, bright and bubbly, bursts in and greets them with a multisyllabic 'Hi', and plops down next to Light. She inquires for the news then dominates the conversation, offering her congratulations and and suggestions on outfits that Sayu could borrow.

* * *

**AN**: Haha, I made you read not-porn again. Actually, I feel kind of bad, updating after so long and it's not even porn, so I slipped some porn in there. I am kind of going somewhere with the plot, so it kind of has a point. The next scene should defiantly be back to Near-domination again.

* * *

**Summary: **Halle has thoughts, masturbates, and feels guilty about thinking about having the hots for every guy around her, as the stuff from the last chapter happens.

The scene at Light's Palace continues with Misa leaving L in the throneroom.

Sayu, now speaking, has become serious and driven to achieve at 'the academy' and become a 'Judge' in Light's theocracy. She thinks that her scores might have been noticed by her brother, but Light indicates that he doesn't want her to achieve this position because he doesn't want to show favoritism (and possibly other reasons), and tells her that he actually wanted to talk to her about a possible arranged marriage with Mikami.


	7. The Girl Called Skye

**Skye**

* * *

**Plot stuff ahead.**

* * *

If she hadn't studied Japanese in college just to be closer to a cute blonde boy with a guitar and a nipple ring from her dorm, if she hadn't been such a great fucking secret service agent, if she hadn't answered that call from Mason to join the SPK, then she wouldn't be here. Here with three naked, panting, moaning… foetuses, and one dim-bulb hotshot who snores.

None of those bad decisions would have stopped Kira – just subtracted her from this shitty situation. Where would she be in that case? Other than stars and stripes and a three bedroom home to herself she doesn't want to think about it. With her mind in this weird state of idle meandering, she thinks of the situation. She thinks about what happened four days ago.

For a moment the three Americans shifted uncomfortably on the second floor platform of last resort. The locks were all undone and the door was cracked open.

"Near?" goggled eye behind the dead-bolted crack in the door had asked. "You must be desperate to come here," the kid said, allowing Near inside, and rudely shutting out the other two. Five deadbolts slid and clicked into place once more.

They had waited a while outside the door, listening through the steel. After a few more minutes the deal was struck and the door was opened once again, and the agents let in.

Mello's apartment. The light inside was dim, the furniture sparse. Confortable chairs, shitty tables. Clean, but disorderly. Lived in. The taller boy matched his surroundings, he had dyed his hair badly, the black over red looked almost green, but he ends were recently trimmed. One tenth of the way between luxury and squalor.

Mello, they recognized from before. His voice had a cutting edge to it. In comparison, Matt's harsh words came out soft and fell right to the floor. But Mello's voice filled every corner of a room and lingered, soaking the paint on the walls, tatami mats, the skin of the listener. He stood so proudly, even in the rundown surroundings. And even with the left side of his face covered in ragged skin he still looked beautiful to her. She wasn't so green as to consider that an accident, since he had taken his time to answer Near at the door, and because people didn't typically wear jewellery, boots, and even a little bit of makeup. And as long as her clarity of thought produced such reason she didn't consider herself to be nursing a crush. But she was always a bit stubborn that way…

"Lidner, Giovanni, Mello and Matt have agreed to let us stay here. They will let us continue our reconciliation efforts, and help where they can, with only a few conditions…" Near's voice came out unfaltering as he explained the terms that they had gone over.

She couldn't believe that Mello would be so outrageous, that his friend would have gone along with it, and that Near would accept it.  
When she questioned her former boss he turned and looked her in the eye, in an attempt to be reassuring. "I understand that this is not ideal… for any of us really. It was all I could manage. I hope that you are not too… uncomfortable."

She remembered sitting on the couch so stiffly – her and Giovanni; How they made Near strip and taunted him.

Giovanni glared at Mello the whole time. And she felt something that she hadn't encountered since the last time that Mello and Near met, when Mello broke in to her heavily surveilled apartment in New York and did something outrageous. He would always do outlandish things, as if he had the power to turn fantasy into reality. She'd felt it every time they met – he was like something that shouldn't be able to exist in real life, but he pushed his way into her world and made things like what she was experiencing now, surreal things, happen.

She was almost jealous of him, almost jealous of his lovers, but mostly wondered what it would be like if she had never heard Kira's name. If no one did.

She wondered again now as she drifted off to sleep.

Earlier that day, across town in a much nicer apartment in a much richer neighbourhood, someone else wondered the same.

Yassa Yamatto looked out of the window of his girlfriend's apartment at the sleeping city below and saw putrefying core. If the apartment had been facing south he could have seen the gardens of Kira's palace, but he preferred this view of the downtown core, it was more authentic.

He laughed smugly, sipping a third glass of wine, and then looked down at it coldly.

"Grapes rotting on the vine." he mused.

"What?" the bespectacled girl reading on the couch smirked, recognizing the slight slur in his voice.

He didn't answer immediately, and she was used to this. He was thoughtful about what he said at the best of times, but the liquor slowed his train of thought. As she watched his nearly unmoving form she let her eyes slip into red-vision, the disorienting view that showed the world in foggy rust tones with people's names and lifespans floating above their head. His numbers fluctuated sometimes, and today they were lower than usual, and always much lower than average. If he turned around while she was doing this he would see her eyes flash an unnerving red color.

"Grapes make wine because the sugars basically rot to form alcohol by a controlled process. A bunch of grape mash left to sit on its own just rots. The world is rotten, but Kira can save it. Like a benevolent overseer, Kira is building a better world. It's something I heard at school after I joined the acolytes," he sighed.

"Right, right. Something about how Lord Kira is a necessity for humanity to reach its full potential. I remember my Doctrine professor say that the rotting was a natural process, just as God wills it, but without Kira to guide it the result will be a failed concoction. You need a winemaker to make wine; You need God to make us reach our full potential. "

"Yeah."  
"Such bullshit," she laughed.

He paused a moment and looked at her, although quick, she could discern the red flash in his eyes. Possibly that statement had sent her own numbers tumbling, Nori wryly chuckled. But neither would tell the other.

"It's almost eleven, have you drank enough courage to head out yet?"

Yamatto drained his glass. "Yeah," he replied, "Let's go."

Yama and Nori never met with Skye anywhere near Kira's palace, and although most identities were known within the group, none of them used their real names. For purposes of the meeting, Nori was Ling and Yamatto was Nix.

They met on the upper floor of a nightclub this time, but when they got to their private room only two of the three expected members were there.

A young, cute-looking college student with soft brown ringlets and stylish clothes greeted them. "I already swept up in here," she smiled, "we won't be having any bug problems." That was great, because if they did then it meant Kira's secret police were onto them and they were all dead anyway.

"Yuki ordered food, so the waiter will come in once, and then hopefully leave us be. We've got the room for two hours," a sturdy looking young man in glasses added.

"Thanks, Knox. We didn't recognize anyone on the way in," Ling said, adding to the pool of information.

"Hey," a cold voice greeted from behind Ling and Nix, attempting to sound cheerful.

"Skye."

"Yuki, Knox, have you had any bites trying to contact L, or the SPK? Anyone?"

"We know of a few other splinter groups, like us, are still active but the latest fishing trip hasn't brought anything new in, and the others don't seem to have the connections that we do, so it's best not to risk exposure to them."

"You've got your finger on it, though?"

"As much as I can."

"Every fishing trip exposes us a little more. If we don't get any bites from the Zakuro Club flier then we'll lay low for a while."

"Any reason for that, boss?" Nix asked.

They were interrupted by the waiter's knock, and politely accepted the food he brought, changing their subject immediately to idle chatter.

"You were late, Skye. Boyfriend wouldn't let you go?" joked Yuki.

"Waiter, I'd like to put in a drink order. Are you guys having anything?" Nix griped.

"No drink orders," Ling snapped dismissively.

"Boyfriend. As if. I just had trouble slipping out," their leader apologized as she sat down, "Things are going to get a little more tight for me, so I might not see you guys for a while."

The waiter left with a quick smile and nod.

"Were you serious about that last part? Anything we need to know about?" Knox questioned, seriously.

"Not particularly, it's a personal matter. But unless I can convince my family otherwise, I'll probably be married soon."

Yuki chuckled, "Seriously."

"It's an arranged marriage. I have to go to an Omai," Skye said gravely, "With Teru Mikami."

"I bet you want that drink order now, huh?" Nix whispered slyly to Ling.

* * *

**Yup, an update. Please tell me what you think. It's been over a year, anyone reading this?**


End file.
